My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,47
prove otherwise.
“Question,” I said, pausing mid-sentence in my email.
Belle went a little more still, which I took as a response.
“If I were to say ‘for fuck’s sake’ in an email, would that be with an apostrophe or without? Like, is that a possession of the fuck in question, or is it more like a statement of purpose?”
My question earned me a direct glare from Belle. “Why does it even matter?”
“I’m sending an email and I want it to look professional.”
“Who are you even emailing?”
“Damon. Why, want to read it?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Question.”
“No more questions,” Belle snapped. She closed her laptop with a click and stared toward the sunrise with a troubled expression. I liked that her hair was still a mess from last night. If I used my imagination, I could still picture my hand gripping that thick blonde hair into a ponytail while I took her from behind, or the sound of how wet she was for me as I drove into her.
“Statement,” I said. “You’re trying to keep me at arm’s length, but my cock, while impressive, is shorter than my arm. It’s an awkward position to try to maintain.”
“I’m sorry, am I supposed to know what that means?”
“I mean you can’t keep someone at arm’s length while riding their cock.”
Belle gave me one of her reluctant smiles I’d come to enjoy so much more than the easy ones. With her, I had to steal smiles, laughs, and affection. Just like candy as a kid, stolen things were always twice as sweet. Maybe that was my problem. Belle made me steal and connive every little droplet of emotion out of her, which only made me crave it more.
“You were right, okay?” she said. “I am attracted to you. Obviously. But I still think we can be somewhat professional, and both agree we have important jobs to do here. I mean, after the wedding and then the divorce, I still have a business to run. You still have to play football. Our lives are going to go on after this, so I don’t see why we should get too attached.”
“What if you could be my wife slash girlfriend after the wedding? Who says we have to get divorced right away, anyway?”
She folded her arms. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“No. I already did that. I’m just saying we could ride it out for a little while. Give it a test drive.”
“Marriage? You want to give marriage a test drive?”
“We’re already going to be in the car. I’m saying we don’t have to drive it off a cliff on the first day. That’s all.”
“Can you stop speaking in metaphor, Chris? Just tell me what you really mean for once. And if you try to turn it into a joke, I swear I’m going to jump off this balcony, walk to the nearest airport, and we won’t see each other again until the wedding.”
“You want the full truth? If I had to trade being fuck buddies for you actually talking to me again, I’d take you talking to me again. This is like torture. You’ve spent the last week avoiding speaking more than a sentence or two to me at a time, then you get into bed with me at night. And in between tours. And in that Uber—”
“Chris,” she said, cutting me off. Belle let out a long breath, then fixed me with a pained expression. “I don’t want to get hurt again. Lance was the guy for me for years. When I watched movies I always inserted myself and him into the story. He was my happily ever after, and I built it up to be something it could never be. Then he let some woman he’d only known for a year convince everyone I was some sort of conniving, man stealing wedding bomber. He didn’t say a word to protect me or explain that she was lying. He just let it happen, and it hurt so much more because I was dumb enough to dump all my feelings onto a guy who didn’t like me back. So, I’m sorry, but I guess I’m just not exactly jumping at the chance to go through that again.”
“First of all, I’m not Lance. I’d never wear a turtleneck, and I’d never have left the optometrist with those pervy librarian glasses he wears. But more importantly, I see you. You’re real. You don’t give a shit about who I am or what I’m worth. I’m just another guy to you. Do you